I'd Still Choose You
by blue252
Summary: "It's never been fiction, Castle, not really. Even if I denied it for all those years - it's always been us. In every line of every book, I've always seen us." Season 5. AU. Oneshot.


AN: This is an idea I had a really long time ago that wouldn't let me go. It's AU in that the finale didn't happen. There is no DC job offer. Otherwise, everything is the same and it's set around the end of season 5. So many thanks to Jess for not letting me give up on this story. It would not be posted or even half written without her constant encouragement and help. I hope you enjoy it and as always, I'd really love to hear what you think.

* * *

**I'd Still Choose You**

She turns the key with shaking hands, silently curses the betrayal of her body, the mixture of hurt and anger pulling tight within her chest. It's killing her. The words she read, everything that's left hanging unsaid. She's prepared for a fight now, can feel her pulse racing in anticipation, not so unlike the moment before she steps into an interrogation, fists clenched and jaw set.

Except this time it's him she has to confront. It's him she has to question, to figure out how the _hell_ he could possibly think this, think so little of what they have after all this time. She fuels the hurt into indignation, refuses to give into the tears that pool behind her eyes because how dare he write an ending like that, write her off in such a way. She takes a deep breath and steels herself as the door clicks open. She can be strong. She can _do_ this.

But she's totally unprepared for what she finds - for the sound that hits her the moment she steps inside, the music that carries through the loft and knocks her back with the force of its passion alone. She freezes by the entryway, suddenly unsure of what to do. His back is to her at the piano, too wrapped up in the song to have noticed he's no longer alone. She watches for a moment, her eyes drawn to the play of the muscles in his back, the tightening of his forearms as his fingers move over the keys with a skilled ease she had no idea he possessed.

She's never seen him play before, not in the entire time she's known him and she almost feels like she's intruding now, spying on this secret of his. He's incredible. The sounds that spill from the instrument sweep over her, waves of emotion she would have never anticipated. It leaves her stunned and she can't turn away, can barely breathe through the reverence lacing every note.

It's haunting and beautiful and so encompassing of everything she feels in this moment that she finds herself unable to interrupt. Instead, she sinks to the floor, her back against the wall, knees against her chest. She holds herself together there and closes her eyes, lets the music seep into her the way his words always have before. The way they always will.

_Goodbye Nikki._

The intensity of the song builds, echoes throughout the loft in stereo sound, and the words flash like lightning through her mind. They're tied irrevocably now to the rise and fall of the notes as he plays, fingers pounding against the keys. His heart is bare before her without him knowing it, on display just like it was when she read the words she wasn't meant to find.

_The word, 'No' is a deafening echo in her ears as she walks away from him. Its finality haunts her with every step._

His words are all she can see, and it burns from the inside out, sets her on fire with a hurt and a longing so strong she doesn't even notice the tears that stream down her face. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She never meant to make him feel this way, to cause him to lose his faith in her. She never meant to storm out without so much as a word, her heart barricaded again – with stubborn pride that kept her from meeting his eyes and not looking back as the door slammed shut on their life together.

She came here prepared to fight with him but her indignation is all gone. She can feel it draining out of her as the song shifts in intensity to softer, heart wrenching tones. She hears him more in this moment than she has in weeks, in months. The depths of his feelings, everything she's feared had withered and died, it's stronger than she's ever felt before. There's an overwhelming passion in the way that he's playing, pouring himself into this. It's like they're living and breathing in this moment together – the music a current flowing straight through to her. A connection she's missed. She's dizzy with it, alive and wrapped up completely in _him_.

The need to be right, to argue, somehow it doesn't matter anymore. Suddenly, all she wants is to make him see that it's not what he thinks, could _never_ be. To show him that she will fight for them, that he may be the writer but he doesn't get to choose this ending alone. She's rising to her feet as the music slows, the last bittersweet note shattering the remains of her heart as she follows the sound to him.

* * *

"Hey." She speaks quietly, almost afraid to interrupt his thoughts. He doesn't turn, doesn't acknowledge her at all and she can tell by the hard set of his shoulders, the way his jaw flexes, he's angry. And for the first time since they've been together, she finds she's at a total loss for what to do.

The silence stretches awkwardly as she stands there waiting. He's not going to make this easy for her. She can't find it in herself to blame him.

"You wanna fill me in on what that dramatic exit was all about, Beckett? Or am I just supposed to spend the rest of the night wondering?"

She flinches at his words, pauses for a moment while searching for what to say. She has to get this right, can't afford to screw it up any more than she already has. But before she can speak he begins to play again. Three keys, then a fourth, the notes so heartbreaking that she can't help but move toward him. She takes a seat on the opposite end of the bench, forces herself to ignore the empty space that lingers between them. Her fingers hover over the keys as if she could just complete the song, join him, that this could work, that _they _could work again.

But she can't.

She drops her hands to her lap and turns to face him. She finds him looking at her, his expression unreadable, eyes that are usually so open to her, darkened by a pain that she put there. "I read the Nikki manuscript."

"Oh." He stares down at the abandoned keys.

"I was looking for the copy of the Mead file in your office and saw the pages there instead. It's been such a terrible week and Nikki always calms me down. I just thought I'd read a chapter at first. But I couldn't put it down," she stops for a moment, biting at her lip. "Castle, the ending…"

He meets her eyes at that, and there's the first trace of emotion she's seen. It flickers in his eyes for a second, still unreadable but at least it's _something._ And then it's gone.

He shrugs. "It seemed," he pauses, "fitting."

"Wrong."

Their words overlap, as jagged and painful as the distance between them and she wonders how they've reached this place. So impossibly torn apart.

"How could you write that, Rick? Is that how you really see us? Do you see _me_ that way?"

He sighs, shoulders slumping, and she notices just how tired he looks. Defeated. "It's a story, Kate. It's just fiction."

It's a deflection but she's not willing to let it go. "It's never been fiction, Castle, not really. Even if I denied it for all those years - it's always been us. In every line of every book, I've always seen us." Her voice breaks and she fights to hold back the tears because it's all too much, the words she stumbled across today, the bitterness in his voice, the music he played still a haunting echo in her mind.

"Okay, it's us, but it's _not_ us, Kate." He looks at her, blue eyes piercing. "When you're stressed you throw yourself into a case. You disappear into your work and you don't come out for weeks at a time. And I've dealt with it. I've dealt with it because when you come home, it's to me. When you wake up, it's here. And at the end of the day, that's enough for me – that's all that matters. But since Vaughn it's been different. And I was afraid if I pushed you, it'd only make things worse. So for once instead of pushing I wrote. I wrote because I needed to sort things out in my head and I didn't want to risk driving you away."

She traces her fingers over the keys, an unconscious gesture as she works out what to say. "The things you wrote…" Her voice trails off, unsure of where to even begin. "Do you really think that after all this time I'm still running? That I'm not in this every bit as much as you are?"

His head snaps up at her words, confusion flickering through his eyes. "It's not about you running, Beckett. At first, yeah, I'll admit I was afraid I would wake up one morning and you'd be gone. That you'd have changed your mind and decided it was all a mistake and this wasn't what you wanted." He runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "It's not about running," he emphasizes. "When we worked the case with Vaughn, he said things to you. Things I've been saying for years. Things that suddenly seemed to mean far more coming from him than from me. It hurt, Beckett. All the time I've spent trying to show you just how extraordinary you are and how much this means to me, you spend two days with the guy…"

"That's not…it wasn't like that," she protests but he cuts her off.

"I know you weren't trying to hurt me. But it did. It hurt because I realized that Eric Vaughn was a better version of me. He wasn't doing anything that I didn't do five years ago when we met. And he wasn't doing it like the jackass I was. He saw the same things I saw. Your strength, your passion, how smart you are. You're beautiful Kate, but your beauty is so much more than the way you look. It's everything about you. You may not see it but others do. Ones that deserve you more than I ever will."

She can hear the crushed acceptance in his voice. As if he's already concluded he'll never be enough. "If anyone deserves me, Rick, it's you." She tries to will the words to him with her eyes but he's facing away from her again, his expression pensive. And that won't work. She needs him to understand.

"Castle, please…look at me." she pleads, her voice catching. It's enough that he meets her gaze and she swallows back the emotion clogging her throat, starts again. "I can't deny that Vaughn made me question things. But not in the way you think. Since the day I met you, you've been pushing for more, butting into my life, squeezing through all the cracks and replacing them with pieces of you. And I used to hate it, Castle. I used to hate that you were able to worm your way in when no one else could. That I'd come to rely on your coffee and your crazy theories and just _you._ But I needed it. I would never be half the things you believe I am without you. You make me better. Without you I'm still drowning in so many ways." She pauses, exhales a shaky breath. "Lately, you've quit pushing and I haven't known why. For the first time since I met you, we weren't moving toward anything and I didn't know what to do with that. I just needed to know you still wanted more. And I guess I was afraid that the reality didn't live up to all those things you thought you saw in me."

A pained expression crosses his face. "That will _never_ be true, Kate. You are more than I could have ever imagined." He reaches out and grips her hand, the first touch they've shared since she's come back and it's electric – this connection that she's missed so much. She can see how much he means the words. The look in his eyes, the way they flash at her, hints of moisture just barely held back.

"Why did you have Rook propose?" She asks the question softly, the one thing she's been dying to know ever since she read the last chapter. The one thing she _needs_ to know.

He squeezes her hand and brings his other to her face, angling it towards him to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes across her jaw as he speaks, "Because he wants everything. It may be selfish. He may never be enough for her. But he wants to be, more than anything."

Her breath catches in her throat and she can't stop the tears that slip down her face. He swipes them away with the gentle motion of his fingertips, doesn't let go of her hand, anchoring her to him. She can't hold back what she's wanted to say the most any longer. "The ending is wrong because Nikki would say yes." She pauses to look at him. Takes in the way his hair drops across his forehead, the deep blue of his eyes that's returned, his face that is once again open to her, love written in every expression. And she knows. She knows that this never meant less than everything to him too. That they both want more. "Castle, _I _would say yes."

His grip on her hand tightens at her words and she watches as his eyes widen. "Katherine Beckett, did you just propose to me?!"

She lets out a choked laugh, a mixture of nerves and relief and a million other emotions that are still swirling through her. "Telling you what my answer would be isn't exactly a proposal the last time I checked, Castle."

"No, no, I think it is. I think you just proposed to me, Beckett. You're totally trying to steal my thunder. Have you been checking my Google history again…did you find the skywriter-"

She shoots him a look, effectively cutting him off. "One, I will _never_ look at your Google history again," she shudders, "I don't even want to know after last time. And two, absolutely no skywriters." She shakes her head to emphasize her point.

He drops her hand, begins to gesture in the air painting a scene. "But Beckett, just imagine, we go for a walk in Central Park, we've just finished our coffees when we reach a spot where the trees clear and suddenly, across the sky in big puffy, white letters is written, 'Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you marry me?"

"You always seem to forget that I carry a gun."

"Oh no, I never forget that. It's totally hot." He leers at her and she rolls her eyes. "Come on, would you really say no to something so awesome?"

She doesn't even grace the question with an answer, just shakes her head at him, eyebrows raised.

He pauses for a moment as a more serious expression crosses his face, and he when he speaks again it's softer, deliberate. "But you want to marry me?"

Her chest clenches. His face is so hopeful, like she's just brought him back to life, given him a gift he didn't think he'd ever receive. "Yes," she nods, biting her lip, unable to keep from smiling. "I want to marry you, Rick."

She's never seen him light up the way he does then, his look so full of joy it steals her breath; and suddenly he's pulling her across the bench and into his lap, arms enveloping her with warmth. He presses his forehead against hers, one hand sliding up her back and into her hair, cradling her there, close to him. "I love you Kate." His lips brush across her ear as he speaks, sending a shiver through her body. He pulls back slightly to look her in the eyes. "And I'm sorry."

"Me too."

He waits a moment before responding. "Sorry enough that you'll say yes to the skywriter?" And then he's grinning at her again, his face the picture of innocence.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't push it."

"Hot air balloon?"

"Castle…"

He stands suddenly, catching her off guard as he lifts her from his lap and onto the piano. The keys clang an indiscernible sound and he steps closer, pinning her in place as his hands come to rest on either side of her body. He leans her backwards until his mouth dips along the curve of her neck, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear; and he whispers, "What about incredibly hot makeup sex on the piano?"

"I-" she gasps, trying to keep her voice steady as he bites at a particularly sensitive spot on her shoulder, "I don't know, Castle, the last time we had sex on your desk, you complained about your knee for a week."

He huffs. "Are you implying I'm too old for piano sex, Beckett? Because I can list a number of inanimate objects in this loft on which I've made you c-"

She silences him with her mouth, her tongue working against his until he's pushing her backwards again and sliding his hands underneath the thin cotton of her shirt. She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him against her. She can't help but laugh as he stumbles, his hands landing on the keys, another dissonant sound echoing through the living room. "I think you played better without me," she smirks.

"Mmm," he groans, as she rolls her hips, "But this is so much more fun."

* * *

He proposes five weeks later, on a Sunday morning in the Hamptons. When he gasps and points to the sky she looks up in horror, only to find nothing but blue sky and sunshine overhead. But as she turns to glare at him, he's on one knee, ring extended toward her with a look so full of love and hopeful determination that her eyes fill with tears.

"Katherine Beckett, will you marry me?"

For once she's ahead of Nikki on this one. She says yes.


End file.
